


The Orange Keep

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Series: Writing Rainbow Fills [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: “The orange banner is an Ill Omen”Those were her mother’s words, said once when they were traveling.  She had noticed the abandoned pile of rocks, an overgrown stronghold in the middle of their territory, and asked who owned the keep, tattered orange banners the only sign of any occupation.





	The Orange Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashglory/gifts).

“The orange banner is an Ill Omen”

Those were her mother’s words, said once when they were traveling. She had noticed the abandoned pile of rocks, an overgrown stronghold in the middle of their territory, and asked who owned the keep, tattered orange banners the only sign of any occupation.

Now she looked up at the banners, still as faded and tattered as that day many years ago, heart pounding. Motion out the corner of her eye made her nearly jump before she paused. She continued up the steep slope, trying to keep pace with him.

“Don’t go out during the solstice, for that is when the dark things are freest”

Those were her father’s words when she was young, while he was donning armor. The men would go out that night, not far, only to guard the villages. The shrieks and cries from outside the wall, of her father’s men and of things that were not men would keep her awake until the dawn.

Now she shivered under the heavy furs she had on during the coldest night of the year. Knee deep in snow, she struggled to match his pace as he ascended up the hill, orange mantle trailing across the snow. 

“You’d best stay away from me.”

He had said that years ago, bluntly and with no explanation. She had so many questions, was so curious about all of her father’s servants. After what had been solid minutes of interrogation, those were the only words she could get out of him. When she questioned one of the other knights, he simply nodded and said she should stay away from him. As did her parents.

Now, a long, pale hand reached out and she took it, feeling like ice through her glove. He helped her the last bit of the way up the hill, and they stood before the portcullis. Rotten and wormeaten, the gate was had an opening large enough to slip his massive frame through. It was even easier for her.

“Stay close to me.” He said, nodding. “There is danger here, but perhaps less so than out in the open. We go no further until the morn.”

He led her through an abandoned courtyard, gripping her shoulder painfully when she leaned to look down the well in the center. When he paused, surveying the tattered orange, an incomplete design of a dragon on it, she gently gripped his hand, bracing for him to wrench away. Instead, he squeezed it slightly before starting to walk again.

When something deep rumbled, emanating from the courtyard, from _below it_, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and picked up his pace.

He led her to a large bedchamber, taking no stops and walking with clear familiarity with the Orange Keep. She shuffled from one foot to the other as he paced the room. Most of the furnishings were splintered and broken, he’d explained she’d need to sleep on the floor. He began to rummage through what had once been a bed, pulling wooden slats up and, slowly snapping them. 

She helped, and he looked at her, a cold eye visible in the shadow of the cloak he wore. Distant lyrical but disconcerting calls rang out. She did her best to be silent as she picked the bed apart. 

“You’ve been here before?” She asked, feigning nonchalance. He nodded silently, his hooded head bobbing slightly. She took a deep breath. “It’s your home, isn’t it?”

“Was.” He said silently, head bowed, as if the slat of wood he was looking at was the most important thing in the world. “We must be quiet here.”

They finished collecting wood in silence, and only after he had stacked wood in the fireplace. She laid on the furs she had been wearing and studying him as he knelt, head bowed, before the flame. He muttered something to himself, and it took her so very long to place that the thing that it resembled most was the cries of the solstice. 

She wanted to say something, to get him to talk. She had several puzzle pieces, but wanted more. But he was not one for idle chatter. With his exploits he should’ve been the most honored of father’s men, but he was… there. No one spoke ill of him, but few recognized his accomplishments. He’d always been puzzling. Nobody spoke of his past, and he did not appear to have any future beyond service to her father.

And now he was the only person she could trust, at least until they reached her brother and his men. 

“It was long ago.” He said, rocking back and forth. “On a Solstice night.”

She rolled to face him, seeing him look at her, hood down. As always, he looked tired—that was what was most distinct about him. Whenever she got a good look at him, he looked tired. She sat up, waiting for him to say more, she was dying to hear more. He looked back to the fire, and his lips curled upwards a minute amount. “Before your father.”

He didn’t look that old; he was roughly nondescript. He could pass for someone maybe only a few years her senior, even if he had always looked that age. She interacted with him so rarely that she never thought about that. Just getting comments from him was enough of a surprise she never considered more than that.

He used a slat of wood to movie pieces already in the fire, and said no more. His jaw worked as if he was trying to speak and simultaneously trying not to, but after a long period the only thing that came out was “I shouldn’t have been the one to be trusted with you.”

She grabbed his hand, running her thumb along a thin scar that reached from between his knuckles to the wrist. He looked back at her. She searched for something to say, settling on. “You can do the impossible.”

“I’m good at killing. Not keeping things safe.” He said solemnly.

“You’ve done well so far.” She said. They had been dodging the Contessa’s men since they started running. He definitely was good at killing. She pulled him towards her gently. He obliged, sidling closer to her and sitting down, tossing the stick he’d been using into the fire. 

She shrugged as he looked anywhere but her. 

“Have you ever failed my father?” She knew so little about him, despite all her attmepts to learn. Her parents were not eager to share what they knew, and other servants knew only parts. When he shook his head, she smiled. “You are not going to start now.”

Something screamed, echoing, close. He was on her feet in seconds, unsheathing a sword at his belt. He was halfway to her feet as he started to stomp off to the door, sword in one hand, a burning slat he recovered from the fire in the other. “Stay here.”

She didn’t listen.

They didn’t like fire, that she knew. She grabbed a table leg, wrapped it in the remnant of a tapestry, and held it in the fire until it was alight, and raced after him. “You were supposed to stay in the room.”

He sounded grim.

“And if you got yourself killed? You would have left me alone.” 

At the end of the corridor, eyes reflected in the darkness. Two, four, five. Teeth gleamed as a maw opened. 

“So it’s better if we die together?” He asked, tensing up. He dropped his slat of wood, and held the edge of his sword forward. 

“It’s not going to happen.”


End file.
